


Do You Love Me Now, Princess?

by dipshitHarlequin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also It's One Big Solid Trigger, It's Got Too Much Inside Backstory And Was Never Meant To Be An Actual Fic, Just Don't Even Think About Reading This, M/M, This Is Only Here For Storage And Gift Purposes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dipshitHarlequin/pseuds/dipshitHarlequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's healing.<br/>Or so you think.<br/>But there's a lot more to Dave than you thought.<br/>And you don't like any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Love Me Now, Princess?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ayuemui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuemui/gifts).



The first week he's bedbound, and you rarely leave his side. He's asleep a lot, as would be expected, and you either watch children's shows on the little mounted television, the only programs you trust anymore, or sleep with him. You're never half as tired as he is, but when the lights are down and the only sounds in the room are his soft breaths and the faint beeps of his vital monitors and his hands are pressed lightly to the skin just at the small of your back, it gets hard to keep your eyes open.  
Little happens in the makeshift infirmary and even less in the steel and concrete hell on the other side of the bathroom door, but you can often hear Dirk and the Doctor scrapping upstairs. Only the basement is soundproof, and sometimes you want to sit in there on the metal beds and wallow in the vile stench of dried blood and death, just to get away from their yelling and crashing. It dies down as quickly as it starts and they have since to appear unscathed when they do make their appearances, Sam's much more preferable than Bro's to you.  
He hasn't actively moved against you since that first night, but you've found that he shoots you glares half as dangerous as he is when you aren't curled at Dave's side, and even that would be enough to strike a normal man dead. It's been made obvious that he doesn't see you as a person, but as an object, a simple toy belonging to his brother. You wonder if he values anyone not blood or similarkin to him, and if you thought about it, he must not. How else could he claim so many lives and still sleep soundly at night?  
Samuel is kinder, but he never turns off his killer's smile, and his eerily polite glances have done so much as disturb your dreams. Despite his haunting demeanor, he's a decent friend and a fine host. He offered you sleep in his bed, but you declined, staying you'd prefer to stay with Dave. It's not entirely untrue, but you leave out that half of it is his awkward and unwarranted advances. He's gone out of his way to cook your meals seperately and out of things not human, usually beef or veal. You've expressed minimal gratitude for his work and your morality aches because you know it's probably more than he does for any of his guests, and still you're afraid to linger with the likes of him.  
You're afraid of everything these days, and no one's surprised.  
The second week, Dave can walk around sometimes, and he only has to keep his IV's in while he's sleeping. He seems happy, like there's nothing wrong, and he's definitely acting like his old self again. He even whines and pouts when you make him keep his shirt on. He's welcome to go without it, except for around you, because you can't stand to look at him the way he is anymore. Deep red lines and the strings that just barely hold them together, he's more wound than he is skin. He doesn't let any of that stop him though, and he rambles until his voice breaks to hacking coughs and you have to stop him before he tears a stitch, and you think you're sort of alike in the sense that both of your voices are limited. Even still, his quick recovery is something miraculous. It usually takes four to five weeks at the least, you know, to be able to do what he is, even in lighter cases, and you decide to ask the Doctor about it.  
One night, not quite late but late enough for Dave to be sound asleep, you dig through his hoodie pocket for the remote to the door you know he hides in there and ascend the horror-eqsue stairs, feet prodding to the rhythm of the flickering neon lights that line the steep steps. Your fingers hover on the button for a moment before you press it, and overhead the mantle creaks as it disassembles and slides open. The light above brings stark contrast to the previously ill-lit staircase below, and you have to blink a bit to readjust your eyes. Once your vision has again cleared, you continue on and the doors close swiftly behind you as you resurface.  
It's brisk, like Sammy likes it, and you start to wish you'd worn Dave's hoodie. Now that you think of it, why /didn't/ you throw that thing on? Before you have too much time to ponder, Sammy comes stomping down the stairs and he's practically screaming, "Diiirk! I'm going to pin you down by your neck and cut off your arms with a rusty spoon if you don't- Oh." His tone drops significantly in venom and volume when he sees you standing there. "Hello John. Bit late for you to be out, isn't it?"  
"Um, not really...but if you're busy with Bro I can always just go down and wai-"  
"It's fine, I'm not even sure where he ran off to. Did you need something?"  
"D-Do you have time to talk?"  
"Oh my..." He stops, noticing the tentative seriousness in your tone. "What about?"  
"Some things."  
"Some things that are immediately concerning?"  
"I guess not, but I just was thinking about some things and I wanted to ask you about...stuff."  
He's starting to catch your drift and he looks around one more time, presumably for Dirk, and finding nothing, turns back to you.  
"Doctor stuff or Dave stuff? Or both or neither?"  
"Both."  
He spins on his heel and heads down the long cornered hall to his room, and you've been around long enough that he means for you to follow.  
You do, sock-clad feet prodding quietly over the hardwood as you trail behind him. His room is as crisp-clean and luxe as ever, and the television runs some documentary you don't care to watch. He turns it off and flops face-first onto his bed, and his childish antics remind you of Dave. Then you remember that he and Dave have a lot of mutual influence on each other and you aren't actually surprised. He lies there for a moment before he gets back up and sits straight, patting the space next to him.  
You crawl onto the bed and it's just as soft as you remember, and he seems pleased to have you there, which concerns you more than it should. _He just wants to be your friend,_ you remind yourself, _and he's only doing what he thinks he should._ You don't wait around to strike up the inevitable conversation, and you really just want to get your answers and get back to Dave.  
"So...about Dave."  
"Mhm?"  
"Why- No, no, _how_ is he healing so fast? Doesn't it usually take, like, months?"  
"For a normal person, yes, I suppose, but you can hardly base any knowledge of our kind on the mundane."  
"...Your kind?" He's out of his damn mind.  
He sighs, shaking his head slightly, and then looks you dead in the eye with a sort of feral glint you've only seen once and hoped you'd never see again.  
"You don't know much about legends, do you?"  
You were expecting him to jump you, to hurt you, just out of negative association, but you guess you were wrong, because despite that bone-chilling look, his conversation was as smooth and steady as ever.  
"I guess not, because I really don't know what that has to do with anything..."  
"Hundreds of thousands of ancient groups and religions believe that eating human flesh gives it's consumer superhuman qualities," And every word after that sends you into another flashback.  
"Speed,"  
 _"About that whole fighting thing... how do you even do that? That thingy when you move around really fast."_  
 _"You know, I don't actually know."_   
"Strength,"  
 _You watch him as he leaps out the window and lands flawlessly on the rooftop a few stories below, and you don't have the slightest fucking clue how that didn't break his ankle, or at least hurt, or /something/, but he leaps from there to another, and another, and_ Christ _, how did he do that?_   
"And from many, accelerated healing. You don't have to believe in the superstitions, but it makes more sense than any scientific logic I could come up with, and I've been studying humans inside and out my whole life."  
And it clicks.  
And you can still taste him on your tongue.  
And you're disgusted.


End file.
